TV Time
by Iridian's Legacy
Summary: Dipper really should have counted on a certain Grunkle to foil his plans for some personal TV time. (Much needed Dipper & Stan bonding that takes place near the beginning of the series.)


**[AN]: I needed Dipper and Stan bonding, and so did the person on tumblr who inspired me to write this thing. Happy writing is fun...and hard...**

 **Enjoy! (:**

* * *

Grunkle Stan always has the TV on. Seriously, he _always_ has it on. He falls asleep in front of the thing and typically forgets to turn it off when he leaves the room. When he's not lounging in front of a motorcycle showcase, Mabel likes to sniff out the remote the first chance she gets to turn on a crafting show or something. And I'm usually too busy to care about never getting thirty minutes of TV to myself. Gravity Falls has definitely changed that about me.

But there comes a time when a man has to stand up for what is rightfully his. When you're tired of swatting mosquitoes and sweat has perpetually glued your cap to your forehead, you know it's time to sit back, relax, and mindlessly surf the fourteen channels available on your Grunkle's old-timey, rabbit-ear television.

Today, I have a plan. Mabel's out scavenging for supplies for tonight's sleepover, so the only competition I have to face is Stan. There's a documentary marathon on the **UTBAH Channel** that's scheduled to go off in exactly ten minutes, and he's been glued to it since seven this morning. When the clock hits eight, it's gonna switch to _Wanna Be A Florist?_ and he'll hit the power button faster than you can say "hydrangea." All I have to do is wait for him to realize how late it is and head off to bed, then the lounge chair is as good as mine for the next two hours!

Flawless plan. Soon-to-be a flawless execution. Really, all I want is to eat junk food and slump down for a while in a smelly, scratchy chair. I think I've more than earned that, right?

But I can't let Stan know that I'm waiting on the TV, or else he'll drag out going to bed, or he'll just laugh and and pretend to fall asleep in the chair. So I casually check in on him as a step off the stairs, whistling ever so nonchalantly to avoid suspicion. Perfect – he's staring straight at the screen, a half-empty Pitt Cola balancing on the arm rest. He takes a lazy sip and I hurry on my way.

I check the clock just as it chimes, signally five 'till the hour. I smile to myself, mentally scanning the channels. What's on at this time at night? There's gotta be _something_ worthwhile on, otherwise, I could just throw in a VHS.

The last five minutes fly by, and the clock dings 8 times. I hear the credits of the last documentary of the day fade out and get replaced by an advertisement for _Wanna Be A Florist?_ coming up next. Stan must have just begun dozing off because he snorts himself awake and slurps down the rest of his drink, spitting the pit back into the can with a nasty _plink!_

 _Go to bed….go to bed_ , I will him silently, and sure enough, the TV goes silent and the stairs to the living room creak as Stan starts for bed.

"Yesss!" I hiss quietly, punching the air, and before I know it, I'm seated in the lounge chair, feet up, remote in one hand and an unopened cola in the other, like a king with his scepter, triumphantly seated atop his throne…my throne smells a little musty, though…and is that _syrup?_

I rub my sticky elbow off on the cushion and turn the channel from lavish greenhouses to the nightly news and late night adult comedies, bathed in the pale blue light of the old box set. As much as I appreciate current events and the animation of this **[grown up-wade]** show, I keep looking, moving up through the channels. Channel 12, Channel 13, Channel 14…

Channel _15?_

I stop mid-slurp. That's funny, there's only ever been _fourteen_ channels on Stan's TV…maybe the antennae were moved or something. Just to check that there aren't any more, I press the Channel UP button, but sure enough, I get dropped back down to Channel 1. Back on Channel 15, some show I've never seen before is about to start.

The title sequence looks incredibly cheesy, and a little overwhelming, to be honest. The colors flash by so quickly and brightly that I can hardly tell what's going on, and I haven't even unmuted it yet.

Mistake. I forgot: Stan's nearly deaf. The theme song blasts through the speakers and the manic undertone of a kazoo overpowers any words I could possibly distinguish. I nearly chuck my soda across the room to cover my ears. "Gah!" The remote goes flying, leaving me to deal with " _Meander! Meander! Hither! Hither!"_ over and over again as the colors seem to get brighter and brighter.

I vault off the chair, keeping my ears covered, searching for the remote in the rapidly changing light, and spot it on the carpet…at Grunkle Stan's slippered feet. He leans down and snatches the remote up before I can make a move for it and mutes the psychedelic cartoon with a single aggressive button push. "What the heck's goin' on here?!" he says, waving the remote in front of me.

 _Rats_. "Nothing! Nothing! I was just trying to – you left the TV on and I was turning it off but my finger slipped and–!"

"Dipper. You're the worst liar I've ever met, and you've heard my stories from Vegas." He tosses the remote in the air and catches it over and over. Eugh, it's like he's taunting me. I can't believe this guy!

His eyes roll back and forth between me and the TV, and finally to the remote in his hands. He's starting to catch on. _Shoot._ "Looking for a little late night TV time, squirt? 'Cause you know, I wasn't exactly done with it myself," he says with a smirk.

My jaw practically drops to the floor. That is _it!_ "Are you _serious?!"_ I burst. "You've been in front of this thing all day, Grunkle Stan! Seriously, I don't think I saw you leave that chair once since this morning! How have your eyes not melted right out of your head? All I'm asking for is an hour or two to myself! Just me, myself, some junk food, and the screen, for one. Hour."

I hadn't noticed, but Stan's stopped tossing the remote. He's narrowed his eyes at me, far more intense with the flashing lights of the television going on behind me, shadowing his eyes and somehow making him seem much taller than usual. With my piece said, I catch my breath and straighten my back, definitely not wanting this to end in a fight. Maybe Grunkle Stan can be a reasonable man yet.

"Please."

The TV's humming is the only sound in the room while I watch him mull it over. He looks a little mad, but also mostly thoughtful, like he's actually taking what I'm saying into consideration….nah, that can't be it. It's way past the usual bedtime. He'll probably–

"Y'know it's way past your bedtime."

–send me to bed.

I can feel myself start to deflate. _Oh well…I've got some books I need to read, anyway…_

"So when this is over, yur headed straight to bed, no ifs, ands, or buts. Got it?"

I look up at him just as he tosses the remote to me and catch what can only be a glimmer of… _lightheartedness?_ The slightest smile on the corner of his mouth. I grin besides myself. "You mean it?!"

Aaaand there he is. Grunkle Stan's back to his old apathetic, frowny self again. He snubs his nose and crosses his arms over his stomach. "Sure, _whatever_. You just better keep it down, or this'll be the last time you stay up any later than _seven!"_

I quickly reclaim my spot in the chair and turn the volume way down. The show has started – some happy-go-lucky fluff ball atop what can only be some kind of horse or other. The demographic is clearly aimed at younger kids, but there's a fluidity in the animation that reminds me of classics like _Dugs Rabbit_ and _Schooby-Floo_ from my childhood. I actually chuckle out loud at one of the corny jokes.

Only when the first episode is over ten minutes later do I nearly choke on my gulp of cola. Grunkle Stan is still standing in the doorway, frowning at the TV. "Grunkle Stan? I didn't even notice–"

"Why is he doing all of that?" he asks.

I cock an eyebrow. Not entirely catching his meaning, I take a moment to follow his gaze then look right back at him. "What?"

Stan gestures ambiguously to the TV. "That goofy little duster with the sombrero! What's the point of bein' so nice to everyone if he's not gonna get anything out of it? What good is it gonna do _him_ , huh?" He taps his foot, thinking over his own question before continuing, "He's obviously real clever, clever enough to get what he wants, and definitely smart enough to get what he _needs_ , so why not find a way to get some cash out of all this helpin'? The profit he's passin' up is makin' me sick…"

Let me tell you something about my Grunkle Stan. He's a simple man with a…well, not a simple life at all, but he's got pretty simple wishes. He prefers pancakes for breakfast, piles and piles of cash, and entertainment he can sit and watch and not have to think too much about…which is what I thought I was watching. So just why Stan has decided to go and make what I assumed to be a mindless kid's show something to be analyzed is beyond me.

I just sit and stare at him for a moment, my mind smoothly departing from the conundrum that is my Grunkle Stan to the conundrum _posed_ by Grunkle Stan. I watch the commercials go by in muted silence before answering, "I think…it's because he doesn't _want_ any praise or reward for being good. Sure, he knows that he could be getting something out of saving peoples' lives or helping ducks across the street, but he's not doing it all for that."

Stan doesn't consider my musings for very long at all. "Then what's the _point?_ "

I chew my bottom lip. "That… _is_ the point. To do good without expecting anything in return."

The commercials cut to black for a split second before the second episode begins to play. The giddy fluff and his trusty talking steed are back in the picture with new challenges and newly tightened springs in their steps. Stan meanders his way over to the chair and nudges me to scoot over before sliding in next to me. I'm not sure where he got a Pitt Cola (I suspect from a secret stash hidden behind the chair) but he sips it thoughtfully and watches the show in silence. Until–

"Whadda ya think causes someone to end up like that?"

I hop on up to the arm of the chair for some elbow room. "Who? The horse? Yeah, she's kinda violent, isn't she?"

Stan shakes his head and waves his cola at the screen. "No no no! The fur ball! What's gotta happen to a guy to make him go around committing good deeds left and right like some sort of spree? And for nothing in return! He's gotta be exhausted by now, don't you think?"

The horse is throwing punches left and right while the fluffy character frantically composes a cheerful ditty to cheer up the villain. I don't answer.

As the episode progresses, I start to formulate my own questions about the show: why does the villain hate the furry guy so much? Is the show's universe based primarily on scientific or supernatural principles? How does he get his arms to do that? Why _do_ they do all of these good things for nothing in return? Is it to pay off a debt to society? Is it to compensate for the guilt of a past misdeed?

Lost in my own thoughts, I almost miss Grunkle Stan roaring with laughter, kicking and holding his head as tears start to leak from his eyes. I missed the joke, but just the sight of Stan losing it makes me laugh so hard that I fall off the chair and watch the rest of the episode from the floor. That isn't the only time the two of us laugh like that all night, either.

When the credits start to roll, a small ribbon covers the bottom of the screen to say that another episode is going to air. I throw my hands up. "That was _amazing!_ How have I never seen this show before? It's got everything – humor, complex characters, building conflict–"

"And fighting! What channel is this on, anyway?" Stan clicks the info button on the remote and **15** shines green in the top corner. "Fifteen?" he asks. "We don't _have_ a Channel 15."

I stand up to throw my empty soda away. "That's what _I_ said! Maybe it's one of those things where they let you sample channels for free on weekends."

Stan shrugs but doesn't say a word. He downs the rest of his cola and crushes the can, tossing it to the floor. I reach to catch it mid-fall. "I'm heading to the kitchen anyway," I say, straightening, then add, "Then off to bed, I guess. A deal's a deal."

Stan raises his eyes when the clock chimes once to signal the half hour. He turns his head back to the TV when the next episode's opening sequence begins. "You mean you're not going to stay up and watch this with me?"

I blink once. "What?"

"Hey, it's not a bad show. And like you said, it's the weekend. I'll probably fall asleep halfway through this episode anyway but…" He pats the arm of the chair.

I can't help the smile breaking through. The two soda cans now have a designated pile by the door so I can throw them out later, and as the episode begins and I hop back up on the chair, Grunkle Stan slaps the rim of my hat down jokingly. I push it back up quickly so I don't miss anything, and Grunkle Stan drops a secret-stash Pitt Cola into my lap.

His own soda opens with a _click_ and a _fzz_. I hope he can't see me watching him from the corner of my eye. Something about him looks…younger, almost. I can't put my finger on it, but…well, I guess I don't mind having to share the TV so much now.

* * *

 **[AN]: Oh look...a _Wander Over Yonder_ reference...how did that get there...**

 **Please leave a review as every single one is motivating and helps me to get better! I've got my first real job this summer working at my church, I'm heading off to college, I'm writing a book, and I want to curl up in a ball and get younger with every breath I take BUT I haven't forgotten about my projects here. I'm going to take this piece as a gateway one-shot to getting back into the swing of FF.**

 **Thanks for reading!**

 **~~Iridian~~**


End file.
